Chapter 289: The Banner of the Future
A pure white radiance gathered around Allen's wrist. Under the power of holy light, the shattered bones began to knit themselves back together at astonishing speed. Within minutes, he flexed his hand and found it almost completely restored.
"Holy light really is something," Ambrose remarked with envy. "Far better than healing potions."
If he were to break a bone, he'd have to replace it outright. It certainly wouldn't regrow.
Aside from their lack of immortality, Lyon's paladins were undeniably formidable.
While any god could have paladins, Lyon's were different. They wielded a wider range of divine magic, and their techniques were far more versatile and refined than those of other orders.
Allen sat down on the ground without a shred of concern for his appearance and looked at Ambrose. "What lies are you spinning this time? Or better yet, just kill me and be done with it."
Ambrose, however, seemed in no hurry. "You look like you've given up on life. Isn't that against your code?"
Allen gave him a bitter smile. "Not if I fall after fighting evil with everything I have. Isn't dying at the hands of the undead a fitting end for a paladin?"
Ambrose stroked his chin thoughtfully, then asked, "You defected from Lyon, didn't you? Filthy, worn down, alone—you look exactly like a fallen knight who's lost everything."
"I didn't break my oath."
The reply was brief, but it confirmed Ambrose's suspicion. He hadn't broken his oath, but he had betrayed his country.
Had James Watson, High Inquisitor, already made his move? Ambrose had expected the old man to spend a year or two building up momentum. Instead, his own son had become a traitor within months.
"Fine," Ambrose said. "For your father's sake, I'll give you an explanation. First, those five villagers you mentioned? Yes, I killed them. Because they tried to kill me."
Ordinarily, communication between undead and paladins was nearly impossible. They represented complete opposites.
To a paladin, anything an undead said had to be lies and curses. There was no listening to them—only rejection.
Allen used to think the same way. But he was now facing Megaman Tiga. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Allen felt this lich was different. Perhaps it was because, the last time he had conquered an entire city, he had spared every life.
Or perhaps because his own father had personally issued a pardon, removing this undead from the lists of Lyon's wanted.
Treatment like that was unheard of.
Truth be told, Allen wasn't unwilling to listen. Once he realized this lich was the culprit, he was prepared to hear him out.
As for why he attacked first, it was the same reasoning Ambrose himself often used.
Once the other side's properly subdued, conversation would become much easier.
Unfortunately, the one who ended up beaten was himself, just like before. This time, though, he had managed to struggle a little longer.
"You say they were bandits. Do you have proof?" Allen asked.
Ambrose spread his hands. "No. Believe it or not, it's up to you. Running into bandits and killing them in self-defense is perfectly normal. I've never heard of anyone needing to prove their innocence afterward. If you want to uphold your so-called justice, then it's your job to investigate. Isn't that so?"
Allen fell silent. Ambrose was right.
There were countless adventurers in the world, and even more bandits. It made no sense to expect adventurers to record every encounters with memory crystals just to prove they weren't in the wrong.
And more importantly, Allen was starting to believe him.
Those five old farmers were well-known in the village because they had recently become unusually generous and frequently helped the poor and destitute.
That, though, raised a question. In times like these, farmers could barely keep themselves from starving. How did they have the means to support others? Were they nobles? Wealthy landowners?
Fragments of memory resurfaced, details he had overlooked before. A poor village that somehow possessed a number of valuable, albeit worn, mechanical devices. Villagers who dressed in ragged clothes, yet whose households each owned at least one or two fine garments, carefully hidden away. Fresh graves outside the village with no tombstones.
Each detail could be explained away individually. But taken together, they supported Ambrose's claim.
The fall of Alkhemia had thrown the kingdom into chaos. Many alchemists must have tried to flee. Not all could afford airships, nor teleportation.
Some of those desperate travelers had likely passed through that border village—and never left.
Everything fit, but there was no hard proof.
Seeing Allen's expression shift, Ambrose knew that he was convinced. Ambrose smiled faintly. "Tell me, if you go back and find out those villagers really were bandits, what will you do?"
A paladin's power came from his oath. Ambrose didn't know the specifics of Allen's oath, but it certainly wouldn't have the flexibility of a black knight's. Otherwise, he wouldn't have chased Ambrose across hundreds of kilometers.
If Allen discovered the truth and chose to ignore it, he might break his oath and become a fallen knight.
Surely the Lord of Dawn's favored paladin wouldn't suffer such a downfall?
Allen gave a wry smile. "What else can I do? Reveal the truth and leave it to the law. That village is under dwarven rule now, so it falls under their justice. My duty is to uncover the truth. The punishment is for locals to decide."
Ambrose nodded, genuinely impressed. "You've grown a lot. In that case, farewell. Hopefully, the next time we meet, we won't have to fight."
Milena's voice sounded softly in his mind. "Father, why not kill this paladin?"
"Because Lyon is about to fracture. And the rebels need a leader," Ambrose replied. "James Watson is too old. He can't become the face of a new Lyon. But this kid... he's different. I have a feeling the Lord of Dawn has already chosen him to be Lyon's future king."
Ambrose meant it.
James Watson belonged to the older era, just like himself. Having been raised under extremism, the old man likely could not imagine what the original, equitable Lyon had looked like. That James Watson wasn't even more of an extremist already spoke volumes as to his righteousness.
Even if the kingdom split, he could never become its focal point.
Without new ideas, what would distinguish the rebels from the old order? Without a banner, how could they unite enough strength to overthrow the throne?
James Watson could not fill this role—but Allen could.
Now Ambrose understood why the Lord of Dawn favored him. It wasn't just a matter of talent. Becoming a legend at twenty was impressive, but Allen still wouldn't be able to win against a hundred paladins alone.
Ideas, however, could move countless people.
Allen had been born into privilege, only to be cast down in disgrace before reaching his father's height. Then he rose again as the youngest legendary paladin in Lyon's history.
And at the height of that glory, he had chosen treason.
That decision could only come from profound disappointment and deeper clarity than his father ever achieved.
If he stayed true to himself, he would forge a new path from those experiences.
That was the path the great walked.
Once Allen completed that transformation, he would become Lyon's new keystone, the one who could answer the doubts of the lost, rally countless followers, overthrow the royalty, and become king.
The only problem was, he was still too weak.
"The youngest legendary paladin" sounded impressive, but Allen could still die to a single accident.
Ambrose opened his private space. At his command, two tiny constructs made of shattered glass emerged, bearing a longsword.
He handed it to Allen. "A gift. A paladin shouldn't be without a proper blade."
Allen accepted it hesitantly. The moment he drew it, his expression changed.
He knew swords. This was no ordinary enchanted weapon. The patterns etched into it were unfamiliar and the material exotic. He recognized adamantium and mithril, but the rest eluded him.
Ambrose explained, "This is an elven anti-magic weapon. It can disrupt almost any defensive spell, and it's enchanted for extreme sharpness. ‘Cuts through iron like mud' might be an exaggeration, but most armor won't stop it."
Allen was stunned. A blade like this was extraordinary. Why would a lich give something so precious away?
Naturally, Ambrose continued, "It costs two hundred thousand gold. If you praise the God of Alchemy, I'll give you a twenty percent discount."
Allen immediately shoved the sword back. Forget two hundred thousand—he didn't even have two gold coins. And praising another god? The Lord of Dawn would smite him on the spot.
A devout believer could not casually praise other deities. That would be outright betrayal of his faith.
Ambrose chuckled and produced an IOU.
"No problem. Just stamp your thumbprint here. You can pay it back slowly."
Allen narrowed his eyes. This had to be a trap. When had this lich ever made a losing deal?
But Ambrose gave him no time to object. He grabbed Allen's hand and pressed it onto the contract. A magical imprint appeared instantly.
"You—!" Allen was stunned. How could the lich have been that fast?
Even if Allen were unprepared, how could a mage be able to grab a paladin's hand just like that?
Did this lich cast Haste on himself just to trick Allen?!
Ambrose tucked away the contract and tossed the sword back to Allen before turning to leave.
He had demanded two hundred thousand gold for the sword, but in truth, it had only cost barely three thousand to produce. Thanks to Catherine's shared legendary boon, he didn't have to rely on conventional weapon forging. The cost could be reduced by an absurd degree.
That said, a blade with such powerful anti-magic properties would certainly sell for far more than two hundred thousand anywhere else on the continent.
The contract was clear and binding. It was time for old James Watson to cough up some gold.
Ambrose hadn't forgotten how the old man had once sent people to hunt him instead of paying a ransom. But the tide had turned. James Watson was a rebel, and Ambrose would force him to cough up the two hundred thousand gold his son owed.
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